


for just a moment in the light

by cabinfever



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, Episode Ignis, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-19 07:56:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13119429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cabinfever/pseuds/cabinfever
Summary: The two protectors take a moment to breathe during their mad rush to the altar. They don't get along.Set during Episode Ignis at an Altissia rest point.





	for just a moment in the light

**Author's Note:**

> title taken from "starlight" by starset.

Ignis can’t believe he’s doing this.

Of all of the people he’d expected to lend him a hand during the destruction of one of the last safe places in Eos, Ravus Nox Fleuret was certainly low on the list. He reserves little love for Lucis and especially little for Noctis, betrothed as he may be to Lady Lunafreya. He’s certainly made his allegiance clear in his interactions with them back at Aracheole Stronghold. For him to now extend an offer of his skills to help Ignis towards the altar is...concerning, to say the least.

Nevertheless, he’s here and he’s not yet betrayed Ignis, so he can stay.

For now.

They’ve just arrived at a safe spot amid all of the chaos. Ignis swipes his hair back from his forehead, frowning when he sees that his fingers come away bloody. Something must have grazed him during his fight with Caligo’s magitek armor. He shakes his fingers out, splattering blood across the rubble and shattered glass, and resolves to take a potion later. Over his shoulder, he orders, “Look for supplies.”

“We’re at war, not on a road trip,” Ravus snaps back, but he sets to work anyway.

There are plenty of relief supplies here, and they’re mostly untouched, by the look of them. Ignis cracks open one of the crates with a well-placed dagger to a hinge and starts looking through it for anything that might help them on their way. Ravus does the same, but he doesn’t even bother with a blade. He braces his hand against a slat of one of the boxes and pries it open with his metal fingers. It doesn’t even look like he’s made any sort of effort.

“I found a map,” Ravus announces, holding it up.

Ignis raises an eyebrow. “Congratulations.”

“Have you just been running around without a companion or a map? You’re mad.”

Ignis snorts. “Merely efficient.”

“Without me here, my army would tear you apart in a heartbeat.”

“I shudder to consider it,” Ignis replies absently, rummaging through one of the crates. There’s some food, but it’s been soaked through, and the bread at least looks thoroughly inedible. He doesn’t even know if he’d have an appetite right now; there’s too much at stake for him to sit down and enjoy a meal. He’s gone without food for longer periods of time. He’ll survive. A wandering refugee might need it more. “Thought I don’t think they’re  _ your _ army anymore.” He hazards a glance over at Ravus. “High Commander.”

Ravus’s lips press into a frown. He tosses the rolled-up map roughly at Ignis, who catches it with only minimal fumbling. “Read this.”

Ignis looks down at the paper. “Whatever would I do without you, Commander?”

“You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re a traitor to your empire.”

“Lucian pawn,” Ravus sneers.

“You don’t mean that,” Ignis tells him over his shoulder, studying his map. It’s miserably soggy, and the inked words are starting to run across the thick parchment. Are they in the Deutato district or the Padore?

Ravus huffs a bit. It’s not quite a laugh, but Ignis is sure that Ravus is doing his best to sound unfazed. “Throwing your life away for a monarchy that only values what it can use. Do you not realize the truth of your service?”

“I prefer to think that I am of use,” Ignis replies, still not turning to face him. He squints up at the nearest rooftop. The marked landmarks on the map unfortunately are of little use when most of them have been leveled. He’ll have to climb up to a roof to get his bearings after they’ve rested. The puzzle of strategy keeps his mind level, despite the sound of gunfire and explosions in the distance. Still, Ravus’s words creep down the vulnerable part of his mind that has always worried about the integrity of Noct’s friendship.

Is it truly just duty that keeps them together?

“Maybe,” Ravus answers, drawing closer, twirling an emergency flare idly between his fingers, “but for how long?”

“At least I have stayed by Noct’s side through it all,” Ignis retorts, straightening to meet his gaze. “I doubt you can say the same.”

The flare cracks in Ravus’s grip. Flames of bright, hot orange lick along his metallic fingers.

Emboldened, and frustrated that Ravus managed to get to him, Ignis presses further, baring his teeth in a fierce, triumphant smile. “Tell me,” he murmurs, “when was the last time you referred to your sister with anything other than her title?”

The flare drops.

Ravus grabs him by the neck with his magitek arm and slams him against the wall.

Ignis grunts at the impact; it’s hard enough to knock the wind out of him. Such is the strength of the prosthetic. He recalls, dimly through the shock of the blow, that he and Gladio now share this particular defeat in common. “Ravus,” he chokes out past the grip.

The arm is sparking from the shoulder down to the fingers, sending Ignis’s skin into goosebumps where the metal is wrapped around his neck. It doesn’t hurt, but the audible crackle of static is enough of a threat to keep Ignis docile. He’s seen the way that Ravus destroys MTs with sickening efficiency. Already, the metallic skull tied at his neck is heating uncomfortably against his skin.

Ravus doesn’t even grace him with a reply. He merely bares his teeth, breathing hard with thinly veiled fury. Ignis realizes all at once that Ravus’s eyes are mismatched. The purple of his left eye is unsettling in a way that reminds him of uneasy nights outside of havens. It unsettles him more than the crackling electricity of Ravus’s arm does.

“Let go of me,” Ignis warns. He raises a hand and wraps it around Ravus’s metal fingers, ignoring the unpleasant vibrating sensation of electricity along his arm. In his other hand, he conjures a dagger, twirling the blade between his fingers.

Ravus’s gaze flickers downwards at the sound of shattering crystal, and the icy blue of his right eye glitters with the reflected sparks of magic. “You would attack me?”

“If I must.”

“You need me.”

“I was unconcerned about my prospects before you found me.” Ignis glares up at Ravus, hating that he must look up to meet his eyes. “You were the one who asked me to join you, after all.”

Ravus’s fingers tighten on Ignis’s neck. Ignis squirms, just a bit, feeling what will surely bloom into bruises. Ravus pays his discomfort no mind. “What do you think you’re implying?” he asks, voice cold as steel.

“It means that you can’t do this alone.” They’re wasting time. They need to get to the altar, where Noct could be dying, for all Ignis knows. He doesn’t have time for caution or tact or diplomacy. Instead, he calls on his biting fear to bring venom to his lips, sneering up at Ravus, “It means you’re scared.”

“You know nothing of me,” Ravus hisses, shaking Ignis in his fist. “You know nothing of what I have endured for the sake of my sister. To keep her safe after  _ your  _ precious king abandoned us.”

“King Regis is dead.”

“Good riddance.”

“You would lay his sins on Noctis.”

“I would.”

“If you cannot trust in him-”

“I don’t.”

Ignis raises his hand, still clutching his spelldagger. He raises his eyebrows at Ravus, then opens his grip, letting the blade fall out of his grasp. It shatters back into the armiger before it hits the ground. “Trust in me.”

Ravus’s eyes narrow. “Trust,” he echoes, and he gives a little laugh of contempt. “I hope for your sake that your Noctis learns the value of trust.” He lets go of Ignis, shoving him back against the wall as he turns his back. There’s a stiff set to his shoulders that looks like more than just tension or concern for his sister’s wellbeing. “I trusted King Regis, and he paid me with the blood of my mother and the safety of my nation.” He gives Ignis one more cursory look over his shoulder, then makes a quiet sound like he’s displeased with what he sees. 

Ignis doesn’t bother to reply. He doesn’t owe Ravus a thing, and he surely hasn’t forgotten their confrontation at Aracheole Stronghold. He’s not about to dispute the power of magitek. At the same time, though, he’s not about to let Ravus intimidate him. Let Ravus call him a pawn; he’s a warrior of Lucis, gifted with weapons and power just as Ravus is. He’s been through worse than being held against a wall.

Ravus stalks away. There’s a little bit of a stagger in his step, rending his careful military composure. It’s a subtle injury, and he hides it well, but Ignis didn’t get to where he his without knowing how to spot the weakness in a potential foe.

He knows Ravus won’t ask for help. They do need to keep moving, and with every moment that the sun sinks lower in the sky, they’re running out of time. Ignis isn’t in the mood to gamble with Noct’s life, and he knows that Lunafreya means just as much to Ravus.

Ignis snatches up his map with one hand and reaches into the armiger with another. In the half heartbeat where his grasp reaches beyond the world, he almost brings out his spelldagger again. It would be easy to exploit the weakness in Ravus’s step, to sink the blade into his leg and render him unable to retaliate or ever lay a hand on Ignis again.

But Ravus has his uses, and Ignis knows sincerity when he sees it. He recognizes the desperation in Ravus’s eyes.

_ Am I that obvious? _

When his hand closes around crystals and magic, he lets it take shape into a potion.

Ravus has stopped at the edge of their little haven in the middle of the chaos. He’s staring out at the ruins below, holding onto the hilt of his blade with his still-human hand. The tension and anger is still evident in the set of his shoulders.

Ignis approaches anyway. He was raised to be bold.

He makes his approach with less grace than usual, intentionally letting his shoe drag and catch against the rubble to signal his arrival. Ravus’s shoulders twitch at the sound, as if in recognition. Ignis takes that as a sign that the worst of the aggression has passed. “Here,” he says.

“What?” It’s short and bitter, but not hostile.

“You need this,” Ignis tells him, holding the potion in Ravus’s periphery. He stays out of reach.

Just in case.

Ravus’s head tilts towards him, nearly imperceptible in its movement. “I’ll be fine,” he snaps.

Ignis rolls his eyes and moves just a bit closer, holding the potion more clearly in Ravus’s line of sight. “Don’t be ridiculous. You have no idea what can still be in these ruins. I won’t have you falling in the middle of battle just because of your pride.”

“I have flesh fortifiers,” Ravus mutters, turning his head away.

“Ravus,” Ignis insists, and still the name feels foreign and uncertain in his mouth. And then, another word, even more alien for someone who should be his enemy, “Please.”

That seems to strike at something, because suddenly the potion is being snatched from his hand with unnatural speed. Ignis’s fingers close around nothingness, and he watches Ravus carefully, half-tempted to summon a blade again if this whole arrangement goes south.

To his surprise, Ravus crushes the potion in his flesh-and-blood hand, and the magic washes over him. He shivers, gritting his teeth even as his wounds close. Something’s warring on his face between relief and bitterness.

“First time using one?” Ignis asks curiously. The curatives have become such an integral part of his lifestyle in the past weeks that he can’t imagine being able to go on without them. The once-overwhelming rush of magic in his veins has long since faded to a warm relief whenever he needs healing. 

“Forgive me for not being overly fond of the touch of the Crystal’s magic,” Ravus mutters, clenching his magitek fist. He steps abruptly out of Ignis’s reach and out into the ruins with a purposeful, precise stride. There’s still blood on the fine white of his uniform, mixing with the glistening purple to create a hauntingly beautiful portrait of gore. It shifts and flutters with his every movement as he leaps across the broken masonry and steel of the city. There’s something otherworldly about Ravus in motion, Ignis thinks. He has the same too-fast, too-agile composure of Noct after communing with the Astrals.

Gods-touched. Royal.

Tragic.

They’re not so dissimilar, if Ignis thinks about it.

Ravus turns, perched on a shattered length of what must have been a building’s balcony. “Well?” he asks imperiously, looking uncannily like a bird of prey ready to strike. “We don’t have time to waste.”

Ignis shakes himself out of his reverie. He tucks the map into his back pocket, resenting its weight but appreciating its purpose. He’ll have to deal with it. Any inconvenience is irrelevant in the face of his mission.

_ Noct. _

Ravus may view Noct with no uncertain form of resentment, but for now their interests have aligned. Ignis is willing to trust him and the sheer force of his love for Lunafreya if it will get him close to his king. 

“To the altar,” he says grimly, tugging a dagger from the armiger, and he launches himself after Ravus and into the ruins.


End file.
